


The Great Declaration

by HopeCoppice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Fallen Angels, Gen, POV Lucifer, War in Heaven (Good Omens), eternal damnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-11-02 10:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20709623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Lucifer's wings are already burning as Michael raises her sword.Cut off from God's orders, Lucifer can only watch as the Host prepare to obey and the Great Plan is set in motion.(Inspired by The Plagues from The Prince of Egypt)





	The Great Declaration

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. There's an obvious way to work The Plagues into the Good Omens fandom, and this ain't it. Oh well.  
The song is [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bDtGfvc3WzY) if you want to listen to it, though I have of course changed some dialogue. 
> 
> The Host's orders are written to fit the basic pattern of the chorus part, so... enjoy.

Lucifer’s wings are already burning.

He stands at the edge of Heaven, his rebels behind him, and faces down the full might of the Host. God has made Her judgement, and he can feel the transformation starting, the pull of gravity on his wings as his army struggle to hold their ground. The whole Host - those who haven’t joined him - have been ordered to cast him and his _ demons _out. Michael stands at their head, the mighty commander of Heaven’s army, and he can see the hesitation on her face as she receives her orders, passes them on to the rest. Lucifer feels a strange buzzing between his ears, knows it to be the absence of those orders, knows it to be the result of his own choices.

_ Thus saith the Lord. _

He’s heard it a thousand times, spoken the words himself, but as the confirmation whispers its way through the Host it sends shivers down his spine in a way it never has before. The words ripple through the assembled army again, and Lucifer hears the gasps of those standing behind him as the fear begins to set in. Lucifer will never admit to being afraid, but as Michael steps forward, sword raised against him, he can’t help the flicker of panic in his soul.

“Once, I called you sister,” he points out. Michael is reasonable; she must be. She will not destroy him, will she? “Once, I wanted nothing more than to make you smile. Does that mean nothing?”

_ Thus saith the Lord, _the Host ripple, responding to the orders in the air, and Michael lowers her sword, just a fraction.

“I wish this could have gone a different way, brother. I don’t _ want _to be the one who does this-”

_ Thus saith the Lord. _ It strikes him, then, that orders are never repeated like this, have never had to be. There must be many orders, or else the Host are resisting - but if they resist, are they any better than him? If they resist… can they all be spared? He can see the anguish on the faces of the righteous, beings of love twisted to harm those they love most.

“This is-” He tastes the lie in his mouth, and corrects himself reluctantly, aware of the growing tug against his blazing wings that reminds him he must leave. “This was my home. All this pain- the devastation-” There’s no other way to describe the expression on Michael’s face, or Gabriel’s, or any angel stood against him. “-it torments me.”

“It should. All these innocents are suffering for _ your _ stubbornness, _ your _pride.”

Lucifer might not be a part of the Host any more, he might not be privy to their orders, but he’s no fool. He knows that his army are about to be punished, before the drag of their burning feathers finally takes them and plunges them into uncertainty. It’s not enough for them to be cast out, is it? They have to be _ punished_. He meets Michael’s eyes, wondering if he should appeal again to his sister’s better nature. To the affection she once held for him, for them. But she sees him open his mouth and cuts him off.

“You have been my brother. Must you make things worse for yourself?” _ For us_, he hears unspoken in the question, _ for all of us_. There is no use in appealing to her mercy; she has her orders, and all he can hope is that she will make this as quick and painless as she can.

“Let my people go,” he asks, and the Host ripple again, whispering words he can’t quite hear.

* * *

_ I cast you out I turn my back I show the loyalty you lack I give you pain I give you woe I am the force that makes you go- _

Aziraphale isn’t sure if they’re orders or responses, but the Host is all but hissing with them, the same words from a thousand ethereal throats, a curse upon the demons who defy their God. He should join in, he knows he should, but the words are cruel and harsh and he _ knows _ these people. They are- were- part of the Host, part of Her, part of _ him._ He closes his eyes and mouths along with the rest, unable to force a sound past his lips… and somehow, his failure goes unnoticed.

Beside him, another angel turns to their commanding officer.

* * *

Michael raises her sword again, and Lucifer draws himself up to his full height, uncertain in his own power, drawing his own sword. He will defend himself, and those he’s led to this. He doesn’t see any other way out; if he has to go through Michael, he will. And he sees the moment she realises that, her face hardening, eyes cold.

“I called you brother,” Michael reminds him. “How have you come to hate me? Is this - taking arms against your kin - is this what you wanted?” She steps forward. “I have my orders, Lucifer. I will not fail in them.”

“Then let my heart be hardened, too,” Lucifer snaps, because she _ must _know him better than that, she must know he never wanted it to come to this. “What do we care for the cost? This-” he gestures between the opposing armies, his own rebels cringing against the pain of fire among their feathers, the Host almost vibrating now with their incomprehensible chant, words overlapping one another until it sounds like nothing more than the insects buzzing in God’s workshop. “This will still happen.”

“This will still happen,” Michael confirms. “We will never let your people go.”

_ Thus saith the Lord, _the Host echoes, and then the buzzing starts again, and there is so little left to say.

* * *

_ I’ll hunt you down I’ll make you pay I’ll make you rue this every day I pledge myself to your pursuit I tear your vine up by the root- _

Chirauel doesn’t know if the orders are from God or from Michael and he doesn’t care. He can’t bear to make these words his own, to repeat and commit to them. This is barbaric; how can they cast out their own kin, their fellow angels? He feels the absences among the Host like icy voids in his heart, and he steps forward to address his commanding officer.

“Do we have to do this? Can… I can’t- is there any other way, anything I can do instead?”

His commander looks at him, eyes cold, and all of a sudden he is gone. No; the senior angel hasn’t moved, Chirauel realises with a shock; _ he _ is standing behind Lucifer, and his wings feel heavy, and they _ burn _-

* * *

“Let my people go,” Lucifer demands, at the same time that Michael repeats herself.

“We will not let your people go-”

_ Thus saith the Lord_, the Host seems to boom, words and breath in perfect unison, a stamp of feet, a wingbeat.

They will never let the demons go; for the rest of eternity, they will be hunted, they will be punished, they will never know a moment’s peace. One day, there will be another war, another drawing-up of lines, and there’s no preventing that now. There will be no rest, no relief, no reconciliation. The demons will be paying for their mistake - for _ Lucifer’s _mistake - for the rest of time.

The pull on his wings takes him at last, and Lucifer falls, his army plunging downwards beside him, screaming all the way as God’s Grace is torn from their souls.

She will not let them go.

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone wondered, I would pronounce Chirauel Kir-ow-el. (And yes, that middle syllable is as ambiguous in my head as it is written down.)
> 
> Sorry for the angst!


End file.
